CHAPTER X

A DAY IN PARADISE

It was a day in the very heart of the summer, a day
of cloudless skies and wonderful, magic breezes, a
day for the dreaming—­and perchance for
the fulfilment—­of dreams. Swift and
noiseless as the swoop of a monster bird the motor
glided on its way; now rushing, now slackening, but
never halting. Sometimes it seemed to Anne that
she sat motionless while the world raced by her.
She had often seen herself thus. And then with
a thrill of the pulses came the exultation of rapid
movement, banishing the illusion, while the very heart
of her rejoiced in the knowledge thereof. For
this one day—­for this one day—­she
had left the desert behind her. She had yielded
half against her judgment, but she knew no regret.
On the morrow she would be back in the waste places
where, during all her womanhood, she had wandered.
But for this one day the roses bloomed for her and
she drank deep of their fragrance. It had come
to her so unexpectedly, so dazzlingly, this brief
and splendid hour. She marvelled at herself that
she had hesitated even for a moment to accept it.

Perhaps memories of another day came now and again
to her as she leaned back on the cushions and opened
her soul to the sunshine, memories of a day of sparkling
winter which had begun in much the same genial atmosphere
and had ended in most hideous disaster. But if
they came she put them resolutely from her. There
was no time to waste upon past or future. For
this one day she would drink the wine of the gods;
she would live.

Nap drove in almost unbroken silence. He was
wearing a mask, and she had no clue to his thoughts;
but she scarcely speculated about him. She did
not want to talk. She only desired to give herself
up to the pure pleasure of rapid movement. She
had complete faith in his driving. If daring,
he was never reckless, with her beside him.

The meadows were full of hay, and the scent of it
lay like a spell upon the senses. The whirr of
the mowing machine filled the air with a lazy droning.
It was like a lullaby. And ever they sped on,
through towns and villages and hamlets, through woods
and lanes and open country, sure and swift and noiseless
save for the cheery humming of the motor, which sang
softly to itself like a spinning top.

They went through country of which Anne had no knowledge,
but Nap seemed fully acquainted with it; for he never
paused to ask the way, never raised his eyes to the
finger-posts that marked the cross-roads. She
marvelled at his confidence, but asked no questions.
It was not a day for questions.

Only when they emerged at last upon a wide moor, where
the early heather grew in tufts of deepest rose, she
cried to him suddenly to stop.

“I must get some of it. It is the first
I have seen. Look! How exquisite!”